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THE HISTORY 



OF 



ONEDAY-OUT-OF 

SEVENTEEN THOUSAND, 

nrn ioip.89 
,r JUDGE'T^IUTTING. --^^p-^S , 



ILLUSTRATIONS BY CAROLINE S. KING. 



OSWEGO, N. Y. : 

R. J. OI.IPHANT, PRINTER AND STATIONER. 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN 



^nd 'Mo\J I ^^IIcd m^ Pir^h pa^hpidfe. 




the foot 
named. 



I WAS a farmer's boy and lived on 
the old farm where I was born. 
This old homestead, the dearest spot 
in all the world to me, was about mid- 
way between Lake Ontario and Oneida 
Lake. A swift running spring-brook, 
called "South Branch of Little Sal- 
mon," formed the southern boundary 
of the farm for the distance of a hun- 
dred rods or more. Our house stood 
upon a hill, and the farm of over a 
hundred acres took in not only the hill 
but the interval land commencing at 
and stretching southward to the creek above 
The farther bank of that beautiful stream was 



4 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

father's south Une for a long distance. This interval we 
called the '^ Flat." It was a beautful piece of land, easy 
of tillage and exceedingly fertile. 

When I was a boy ten years of age, October, 1850, 
this part of the town of West Monroe was comparatively 
a new country. The original forests still covered a large 
part of that section. Indeed, my father's farm was sur- 
rounded with woods. Several small farms, and two as 
large as father's, wer^e in the same clearing, but you could 
stand on the hill near our house and look about you to 
every point of the compass and your vision would meet 
the large trees of maple, birch, beech and hemlock which 
had been there for centuries. On a clear day this was a 
beautiful landscape ; woods all about you, with here and 
there a neighbor's house, barn and apple orchard in 
sight ; and at one point, away southward, you could 
plainly see the glistening waters of the "South Branch." 

We lived in a large, wood-colored house, with two 
wings. It had a big chimney, which was so placed as to 
accommodate the whole house. This chimney reached far 
above the highest point of the roof. At the top the flue was 
as large as the head of a big barrel. It reached to the 
kitchen, where there was an immense fire-place. It 
reached to the square room, or parlor, where there was a 
smaller fire-place, and it reached to the guest's bedroom 
where there was a still smaller fire-place. So, in fact. 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 5 

this chimney had a large base and in it were the three 
fire-places. 

The old kitchen was the place for fun in winter time. 
Sometimes when the weather was cold and stormy we 
would trim the kitchen fire-place with evergreens. These 
would not last long, but would make the great blazing 
fire look very nice for a time. When the wind howled 
and the snow filled the air at night we would put a huge, 
round, solid beech, birch or maple log in the fire-place 
for a "back-log." This would be a foot and a half 
through and seven or eight feet long. You should 
have seen the fire we could build with such a log for a 
starter. We would pile on the hard wood chips and 
splinters, pieces of birch bark and sometimes pine knots. 
The fiie would reach far up the chimney and would roar 
and crackle at a great rate. The whole kitchen, to the 
farthest corner, would be thoroughly warmed and lighted 
by it. 

The kitchen was very large, and had a big, square 
post, painted red, standing in the center. The games 
and pranks we played about this old post, at these times, 
still linger in my memory like the aroma of flowers. 

I commenced this story, however, to tell you about 
the "Old Pill-lock Gun," and the first partridge I ever 
killed. 

My father had two guns at this time. One was a 



6 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

single-barrelled fowling piece, which would weigh about 
six pounds and a half. Its stock was old, and did not fit 
very well. It had a round, bronzed barrel, and it was a 
curious fire-arm, you may be sure. It would shoot like 
the mischief, when properly loaded, however. Father 
had killed many a fine bag of game with it in days gone 
by. 

The old "Pill-lock" was the most striking and curious 
thing about this gun. The cylinder that went into the 
barrel at the breech, was like that of any muzzle loading 
gun, except, perhaps, it was a trifle larger. In the place 
of the nipple, which, in a cap lock, receives the percus- 
sion cap, there was a hole in the top of the cylinder. 
The lock and hammer were like those in an ordinary gun, 
except that the hammer was pointed at the end, and the 
point fitted into the hole in the cylinder. The firing per- 
cussion was in the shape of a pill, about the size of the 
small, round sugar pills, used by doctors to cure sick 
people, and these pills were black, and were kept and 
carried in a goose quill. When the gun was loaded, we 
were careful to see that the powder, which had been put 
in the gun, came in sight in the hole in the cylinder, and 
then we took one of the little black pills from the goose 
quill, and put it in the hole so that it would rest on the 
bottom, where the point of the hammer would strike it, 
and create the fire that reached the powder in the gun, 
and explode the charge. 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 7 

There was another gun, which was called the ''smooth 
bore." It had a shorter and thicker barrel, and had once 
been a rifle. It had been bored out, and would now 
shoot either shot or a large ball. This gun had a better 
stock, which reached clear to the muzzle. It was fitted 
with a cap lock, and was considered, by all who had ever 
seen it shoot, a first-class gun. 

The two guns hung in the kitchen, side by side, on 
wooden hooks, which had been made by father, from 
crooked branches of a tree, and nailed to the ceiling. 
These two guns were loaded, as a rule, the year 'round. 

Father knew, very well, how to care for a gun, and 
how to shoot both rifle and shot-gun. He had moved to 
the old farm when it, and the surrounding country, were 
covered with forests. The woods were then full of bears, 
deer, wolves and other animals, and he had learned to 
handle a gun, and shoot, as well from necessity as pleas- 
ure. Father was a young man then, and now his hair 
and beard had begun to turn gray. It was, even now, a 
very dangerous thing for a hawk to attempt to make a 
dinner of our chickens when father was about. Nine 
times out of ten the hawk would pay the penalty of his 
daring with his life. 

The deer and bears had been driven away and killed 
off, and father's love for hunting had to be satisfied by 
capturing smaller game. He loved to hunt partridges 



8 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

when the fall came on and the farm work had been fin- 
ished. When the potatoes had been dug and put away 
in the cellar ; when the apples had been carefully picked 
and barrelled for winter ; when the corn had been husked 
and piled in a great yellow heap in the crib, and when 
the wood for winter had been housed, then it was that 
the old hunting fever came on and the partridge, wood- 
cock and squirrel had to hide carefully or they were gone. 
For two or three years in the fall, father had let me 
go with him on these hunting trips. I had not been 
allowed to carry a gun, though I fairly ached to do so. 
When I first commenced to go on these hunting trips, I 
was so small that father some times helped me over large 
logs, piles of brush and muddy places. I had fired the 
old pill-lock gun a few times to scare the crows from the 
corn or at a flock of pigeons passing over, but I had as 
yet only learned the a, b, c of gun lore. With my limited 
experience and few years, I was on this October morning 
to have a gun fully loaded and was to commence huntmg 
in earnest. Father had told me this while caring for the 
chores that very morning. When breakfast time came 
and we all sat about the table, I found that my appetite 
had failed ; the excitement, caused by the expected hunt, 
had taken away the desire for food. My father had 
noticed this and said, " Young man, you must eat a good 
breakfast so that you will be strong for the tramp," and 
in obedience I managed to follow the advice. 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 9 

Breakfast was over and yet the sun was hardly insight 
over the tall trees on the highlands to the eastward. The 
dew which had gathered during the night, still glistened 
among the grasses of the low lands like diamonds, when 
I heard father whistle for " Snap," a beautiful little 
spaniel, who came bounding and barking into the house. 
Father reached up and lifted the "Old Pill-lock Gun" off 
the hooks and carefully placed it in my hands. I shall 
never forget the feelings of pride and happiness which swept 
over me as I took that gun. 

Father said, "There is a gun, loaded with death 
and destruction. You are to be a hunter in earnest to- 
day. I have lost my boy to carry game, but I have found 
a brave hunter." As he said this his face lighted up with 
a smile and he reached up and took from the hooks the 
smooth bore. 

Just as we were about to go, I heard my mother's voice 
calling me; I found her in the square room about her 
household duties. I went up to her and she put one hand 
on one side of my face and the other hand on the other 
side and kissed me. As she did this, she said "Be care- 
ful now and not hurt yourself or your father, and bring 
me a partridge of your own killing, and I will see that it 
is cooked fit for a king." 

My mother was tall and straight, ^nd had dark hair 
and large, dark gray eyes. She was a beautiful woman, 



lO THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

and as good, loving and patient as she was beautiful. 
God bless, keep and guard her down to the end, for she 
yet lives at nearly eighty. I will, perhaps, tell you more 
about her some other time. 

I passed out of the door, and as I did I saw father 
standing in the road with the butt of his gun resting on 
the ground and he was gazing off over the eastern hills. 
We started in the direction he was looking, across the 
meadow and pasture land of a neighbor. We looked for 
no gates or bars, but we went right on over the fences 
when they came in our way. We paid no attention to 
roads or paths ; we made our own roads and paths. The 
dog "Snap" ran here and there, happy as a lark and 
handsome as a picture. He loved to hunt as well as 
father or I. He was a long-eared, curly-haired, liver- 
colored Spaniel, and was well trained and exceedingly in- 
telligent. In memory, I can see father now as he walked 
along on that beautiful morning. He was six feet and an 
inch in height, and weighed about one hundred and 
seventy pounds and was as straight as an arrow. His 
complexion was dark ; his nose long and straight ; his 
eyes were as sharp as an eagles ; his hair curled a little ; 
his hands and feet were small and well shaped, and he 
stepped as spry and light as a fox. He sleeps the long, 
last sleep now, but I remember him so well that I know I 
have given you a good description of him. 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. II 

We soon came near the woods, and words are feeble 
agents with which to describe how beautiful the leaves and 
branches were as they stood out between the sky and us. 
The early frosts had here and there touched the foliage 
and in obedience to that touch, there appeared the beauti ■ 
ful colorings seen in a western New York forest in Autumn. 

Just before we reached Hess' sugar bush father said : 
''You must always carry your gun so the muzzle points 
away from any one who is with you and also away from 
yourself. Then if it should accidentally be discharged no 
one will be hurt. When you are in the woods, you must 
guard against the hammer of your gun being pulled back 
by coming in contact with bush or vine, as I once knew a 
gun to be discharged and do mischief in that way." 

We had now reached the underbrush which fringed 
the woods. This was an old blackberry patch and a beauti- 
ful hide for partridges. Father said to the dog, ''Go hunt 
them up." The spaniel disappeared like a flash. We 
stepped into and through the brush and briars to the 
forest of tall sugar maples. The ground was covered 
with fallen leaves, and the ferns, which had been sheltered 
from the frost by the branches and leaves overhead, 
still were very beautiful and graceful as they bowed now 
and then in the morning breeze. 

The dog was at work in the brush skirting the woods. 
We kept along opposite the dog as near as we could. We 



12 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

knew where he was by the small dry twigs which were 
broken as he ran here and there. Father said, " If there 
are any birds in there, he will rustle them out sure, and 
if any birds are flushed they will fly out of the brush by 
us and down the hill to our left to find a hiding place 
among the branches of those hemlocks you can just see by 
the borders of 'Benson's creek.' If we are quick and 
sharp when the birds pass us, we shall get one or two. 
If we are not lucky enough to shoot them on the wing, 
we will try and hunt them up after they have secreted 
themselves among the branches of the trees." 

Sure enough, as we were walking along with our eyes 
and ears ready to catch the first sight or sound from the 
bushes, we heard the dog jump and give a series of sharp 
barks or screams. At once there was a great flutter of 
wings and up out from the bushes came three partridges, 
one after the other. They were as big as good sized 
chickens and like a flash they started across our path and 
down the hill towards the hemlock. I forgot I had a gun, 
but with eyes strained, looked after the birds as they 
went by like the wind. Not so with father. He stood a 
little to the left of me and in the direction the birds were 
going. The tall, graceful ferns came up to his knees. 
His left foot was a little in advance of the other ; his gun 
was to his face just a moment and I saw the end of the 
smooth bore following the course of the birds. Just a 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. I3 

moment, a mere item of time, and there was a flash and 
a roar and off to our left I heard a " thud " as one of the 
birds caught by the shot from the gun fell in the leaves. 

I first thought of my gun just as the bird father had 
killed struck the ground. But it was too late. My 
chance had passed for that time. 

My father was as handsome as a picture as he stood 
there and loaded the old smooth bore. His face was 
slightly flushed and an exquisite smile lighted up his 
usually sober face. I noticed his hand when he loaded 
the gun and it was as steady as could be, but the fire of 
excitement burned in his keen eye. 

The dog brought the partridge in his mouth and laid 
it at father's feet and looked up into his face, whined a 
little and moved his tail, saying plainly in dog language, 
" You are the lad for me." The spaniel never noticed 
me at all, he no doubt blamed me because I had not 
killed one of the birds. Any way he acted very coolly 
towards me. 

Father lifted the partridge by the bill. It was a father 
bird and had a beautiful black ruffle of feathers about his 
neck. He had a tail which, when spread, was as large as 
a lady's fan and of the same shape. The feathers of the 
tail were very beautiful ; each one was black at a point 
near the end, though the very end was light colored, so 
that when the tail was spread there was a border all the 



14 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

way round the tail, and also a light border all the way- 
round at the end of the feathers. The feathers on the 
body of the bird were mottled white and black, so per- 
fectly mingled that the color was neither white or black. 
Light colored feathers grew away down the legs to the 
feet and the feet were like a chicken's, except they were 
black or very dark colored. It was a noble bird and no 
mistake. 

Father said, "There my boy, that is the way to do it, 
why didn't you kill one ? " I owned up that I had been 
so excited that I had forgotten my gun until the birds had 
gone and, in fact, till his bird struck the ground. He 
said, '' Well never mind, you have not been in the habit 
of shooting and it is no wonder you forgot your gun the 
first time, you will soon get used to it, however, and then 
you will give a good account of yourself." Father put 
the bird in his hunting sack, which hung over one 
shoulder, and we started on down the hill in the direction 
the other birds had gone. 

These birds are very cunning in the way they will 
hide from a hunter in a tree. They usually light on an 
evergreen because it gives better opportunity to secrete 
themselves. They light on a limb, high up, and sit close 
to the body of the tree. They sit very straight and still. 
It takes a sharp eye to find them when thus hidden. 

We went down among the hemlocks and looked every 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 1$ 

one over carefully, but could not see a feather. We 
walked round each tree and examined it the best we could 
and finally gave it up and passed beyond the trees down 
to the margin of the brook which here ran over a pebbly 
bottom. Just as we reached the water we heard a rustle 
and flutter of wings up toward one of the hemlocks we 
had passed and examined, and out jumped one of the 
partridges we had looked for. She flew right back toward 
the spot she had started from. The dog pricked up his 
ears and whined and father said, '' Never mind we will 
let her go ; she is so frightened that she would fly again 
before we could get in gun shot of her if we attempted to 
look her up." 

We passed down the creek a little ways until we found 
some stones which came above the surface of the water, 
or> which we could cross the stream dry shod. I was 
thirsty and spoke of taking a drink of the water from the 
brook, but father told me to wait a little while and he 
would show me a spring from which I could satisfy my 
thirst. Just as we reached the other side of the stream 
I saw some tracks in the soft soil near the water. I called 
my father's attention to them and asked what they were 
and he said, '' They are the tracks of a coon, these tracks 
were made last night ; he went to the corn-field after soft 
corn, or perhaps he was looking along here after clams." 
The tracks looked liked a medium sized dog's tracks, only 



l6 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

they were long and slim and you could see the nails were 
sharp. I asked father if we could not hunt the coon up. 
He said, " It would be a very difficult thing to find him as 
he is now no doubt secreted a long distance from here in 
the hollow of some tree asleep, and will not stir out again 
till night." 

We went on, over a beech ridge, and down into a 
ravine. As we came near the bottom, I heard the musi- 
cal sound of running water. A few paces further down 
we stepped around a bush of alders, and there, just be- 
fore us, was a boiling spring, as big as a dining-table. 
The water bubbled up from a dozen places in the bottom, 
and though the water in the spring was quite deep, you 
could see the smallest particle on the bottom — it was so 
clear. I was about to kneel, and drink of the clear, 
sparkling waters. Father told me to wait a moment, 
and he stood his gun beside a tree, and stepped a few 
paces away. When he returned, he had two large leaves 
of the basswood tree. He handed me one, and then took 
the other, and, with a few movements of the fingers, 
fashioned the leaf into a drinking cup, somewhat like a 
cornucopia. He stooped down, and carefully filled it 
part full of the sweet water of the spring, and held it to 
my lips, and I drank from it what now seems the sweet- 
est draught that I ever tasted. Father smiled, and cast 
the leaf from him ; took the other from my hand and 
made a second cup, and himself drank heartily. 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 1 7 

He then picked up his gun, and was about to start on, 
but he stopped, lowered the gun, and stood and gazed 
long and silently upon the waters of the spring. He 
looked like a piece of statuary, as he stood there — the 
woods all about, and the beautiful spring just in front of 
him. I asked him what he was thinking about. He 
started, and looked at me, and said, "It is thirty years 
since the first time I saw that spring. I was twenty-one 
years of age, and these waters bubbled up and ran away, 
just as they do now. All these years has this spring 
been noiselessly sending forth to the world that same life- 
giving water. It never gets weary, nor does it stop for a 
moment in its good work. The Divine Being, to whom 
we are all accountable, and who guides us all our lives, 
if we will let him, furnishes the fountain somewhere in 
the hills. This spring, my boy, should teach us a lesson 
in life. It should teach us that the things that come 
from God's hands are pure and clean. It should teach 
us not to stop in our efforts to do our fellow-men good. 
It should teach us to do acts of love without show or 
noise. It does tell us that God has provided, and will 
provide for all the beings dependent upon him." 

He had forgotten, and I am sure I had, where we were. 
But just at this time the dog ran down the stream a little 
and looked up and barked, and we saw, on looking over 
his head, a black squirrel about to jump from the top of 



l8 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

one tree to another. Father said, " Shoot him just as he 
stops to gather for the leap." Up went the old "Pill- 
lock," and as the squirrel was about to jump I fired at 
him. My ! how the old gun kicked and smoked. When 
the smoke had cleared away, no other execution had 
been done except to detach a few leaves from the branches 
of the trees overhead by the shot, which came circling 
to the ground. I also found that a small piece of the 
skin from my right cheek had been loosened. The squir- 
rel, as lively as a cricket, had now gone to the body of 
the tree and concealed himself away up toward the top. 
We could not see him for he kept very still. Father said, 
''He is on the other side of the trunk, and will keep the 
body of the tree between himself and us if he can. You 
walk round that side of the tree, and as you come in sight 
so he can see you, he will come around on this side, and, 
before he knows it, I shall get a shot at him." So I 
walked around the tree, and as I came nearly opposite 
father, I saw him raise his gun quickly. I looked away 
up in the tree, and saw the squirrel run out on the end 
of a branch toward another tree. He stopped a moment 
to get ready to jump and father fired. I heard a sharp, 
cutting sound as the shot sped on its way, and then saw 
the leaves and bark about the squirrel fly, and the squirrel 
dropped off the limb. He did not come down, how- 
ever ; he hung by his paws to the limb a moment, his 



\\ :-J^.^^: J-j 







THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 21 

long, bushy tail hanging straight. I was about to fire, 
but was stopped by my father's saying, ''Don't shoot; 
he is dead enough and will come down soon." Just then 
his paws loosened and he fell through the lower branches 
to the leaves at our feet. 

The dog was about to pounce upon him, but father 
stopped him and went and picked him up. He held him 
in his hand and smoothed his black hair and long, bushy 
tail. It was a beautiful animal, as black as coal, long, 
slender body, strong limbs and paws, a cunning head, 
with long, slim front teeth, and cute ears that stood 
straight out from his head. He had long hairs at the 
side of his mouth like the hairs' about a cat's mouth we 
call "whiskers." His tail was as long as his body and 
covered to the tip with beautiful black hair. He would 
weigh two pounds and a half. Father put him away in 
his game bag with the partridge, loaded his gun and on 
we started. 

In a very short time we came to the main stream of 
that part of the country, called "South Branch." It is 
quite a large stream. It is two or three rods across, and 
runs still and deep at this point. It is the same stream 
that passes to the south of our house. As we came to 
the water, father stopped and said, "Just across the 
creek, there, in that low ground among the elms, we 
sometimes find a wood-cock, even at this time of the year. 



22 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

The most of these birds go south before this, but, now 
and then, one stays till nearly the first of November. 
We will go down to a log, which reaches across the stream 
just below here, and go over and see if the dog cannot 
find one of these beautiful and curious birds." So we 
walked down along the margin of the still-running stream, 
a little way, and, sure enough, there we found an old, 
moss-covered log, reaching from bank to bank. It 
looked as if it had been there for many years, as, no 
doubt, it had. Father carried both guns, as we crossed. 
We reached the other side safely, though I took the pains 
to hang on to the alders that came within my reach, on 
the way over. If wood-cock could be found in this cover, 
they would be along the margin of the stream, in the 
thick alders. So father stationed me a little way from 
the spot where we stepped upon the shore. I stood be- 
tween two great elm trees, that were about two rods 
apart. I faced up the stream, and, at the suggestion of 
father, I cocked my gun. Father and the dog took a 
roundabout way, up the creek, keeping some distance 
from the water. They went twenty-five or thirty rods, 
and then turned to the left, and went to the margin of 
the creek. I heard father say, " Look them up," to the 
dog. Then it was that every sense I had was on the 
alert. I heard father and the dog come along down the 
creek, and when thev had reached about half wav to me 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 23 

the dog gave one of his sharp, warning barks. I saw a 
puff of smoke in the thick brush, and then heard the re- 
port of the ''smooth bore," and in half a second the 
shot rattled in the branches of the elm over my head. 
Just then my eye caught sight of the bird coming right 
toward me. The old " Pill-lock" was to my face in an 
instant, and, taking a quick aim, I fired. The next 
thing I remember I was picking myself up out of the 
leaves. The old "Pill-lock" lay at my side, smoking 
from the muzzle, as innocent as could be, but it had 
downed me. 

Father was near me and reached down his hand and 
grasped mine and helped me up, and, as he did so, he said, 
' ' Did you kill the bird ? " While he asked the question, he 
rubbed his hand along my right arm, and said, "No bones 
broken, let us look for the bird. " I picked up the old gun, 
and father loaded it, and we started to search for the game. 
I noticed father did not look as though he expected to 
find anything, and I confess I felt that way myself. After 
a little, father inquired where the bird was when I fired. 
I told him, as near as I could, and also stated the course 
the bird was flying. I told father that I did not see the 
bird after I fired, but I first saw smoke, and lots of it, 
and then I saw stars, and many of them, and that was all 
I recollected about it. The bird was somewhere, how- 
ever, dead or alive, and, with the dog, we set about find- 



24 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

ing it. We started slowly down the stream, the way the 
bird was flying when I fired. 

We had not gone far when father called to me to come 
where he was. When I reached him, he pointed his 
finger and said: " Do you see that little bushy hemlock 
near that pool of water ? Well, look along down its stem 
to the ground and then to the left near that old dark 
colored chunk of wood." I did as I was told, and there, 
not more than a rod from us, sat the wood-cock with his 
long bill, his big round eyes and long legs. I started to 
pull up my gun but father put his hand on the barrel and 
said, ''You are too near, you will spoil the bird to shoot 
it from here," So we stepped back about three rods and 
then father said, " Shoot now." I raised the old "Pill- 
lock" and put it fairly against my shoulder, took quick 
aim and fired. As the smoke cleared away we walked up 
and there lay the bird dead. I had taken him on the 
ground to be sure, but I had taken him. 

Let me give young hunters a bit of advice right here 
about wood-cock shooting. When you get a chance to 
kill a wood-cock, kill him. Don't insist on his being on 
the wing when you shoot at him, if you do perhaps you 
won't shoot him, that's all. 

I felt pretty well. I had a wood-cock and father had 
a partridge and a squirrel. Father offered to carry my 
bird, but I respectfully and firmly declined. I carefully 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 2$ 

tucked the bird away in the pocket of my home-made 
blouse. My step was Kght and easy after that. I was a 
full fledged hunter and with a record at that. The record, 
was short, but it was a record. 

We now re-crossed the creek on the same log we had 
used as a bridge when we came ov^er, and started toward 
home, but not over the route we had come. We went 
toward what was then known as " Dick's slash." This 
was forty or fifty acres of land that once had been original 
forest and had been " slashed " or cut over and again 
partly covered with underbrush and was a favorite place 
for partridges. We started down the creek and kept near 
it. We soon came to the roots of a white birch which 
branched out from the tree on the surface of the ground 
so that they made an excellent seat. 

It was now a little after mid-day and father leaned his 
gun against the birch, where it was within reach, and sat 
down upon the root. I sat down near him and laid my 
gun on the ground beside me. We were perhaps two 
rods from the creek, but in sight of it. Father took his 
hunting bag off his shoulder and, much to my surprise, 
took from it a bundle, carefully done up in brown paper. 
He undid the string and spread out on the clean bark of 
the root a luncheon. I did not know he had such a thing. 
I tell you it looked good. There was dried beef, chicken 
sandwiches, fried cakes, boiled eggs, a little paper of salt 



26 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

•and pepper mixed, and some bread and butter all pre- 
pared and the pieces put together. It was as neat and 
clean, seemingly, as when he had taken it from home. 

We ate of the luncheon for a little and I said that 
some water would be agreeable, and at once started for 
the creek. " Hold on," said my father, "■ That is pretty 
good water but don't drink it. Go out there where you 
see that old tree top and by the rock just beyond you 
will find a spring. You might as well know where these 
things are first as last. As you go along look close and 
you will find a small gourd shell hanging in the tree top 
"by a wire loop." I followed directions and found the 
shell and the moss-covered rock at the foot of a birch and 
from under the rock, and from crevices in it, came sweet 
water in abundance. I filled the gourd and drank all I 
wanted and again filled it and carried it to father. He 
drank and then held the cup and looked at it and the 
sparkling- water in it and drank again and again. I asked 
how the gourd came there and was told that many years 
before it had been brought there on purpose by father so 
that he could catch the cool water as it dripped from the 
moss, and that it had been there ever since. We set 
about finishing our lunch, at times feeding the spaniel 
from our hands, who ate, and drank from the creek alter- 
nately. 

My father said, ''You seem to enjoy this my boy, it 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 2/ 

is natural you should. This is your first real hunt, you 
are just commencing, and my hunts are fast coming to an 
end. You see your sun of life always in the east and the 
journey of life to you seems to be a long one. I see my 
sun of life always in the west and the journey of life seems 
short. Life is a curious state. You cannot comprehend 
it and you will never be able to explain it to yourself even. 
You are now about ten years of age. Before you realize 
it you will be fifty and when you are fifty, I will sleep my 
last sleep. My labors and cares in life are drawing to a 
close, yours are just commencing. You will find this life 
that now looks so pleasant and rosy to you, unsatisfactory. 
You will long for something beyond, and there is some- 
thing worth longing for after this life is passed. I can't 
express to you how anxious I am that you should choose 
the right way and the "better part." There are stum- 
bling blocks and dangerous places along the journey of 
life and you must find them and pass them safely. I 
know where some of these dangerous places are, for I 
have stumbled there. I will tell you about a few of them 
now and about others at some future time. 

You have been on journeys with me and have noticed 
when we came to a point on our way where there were 
three or four roads leading in different directions, that 
some person who knew where all the roads led, had 
erected a sign-board, the arms of which pointed along 



28 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

the roads and the point to which each road would lead 
you was plainly marked on the arms, so that even a 
stranger could find the right way. 

We have no such sign-boards on life's highway. There 
are as many highways in life's journey as there are persons. 
The only guides we have on this journey of life, are the 
teachings of the Divine Father as found in the Bible and 
the actual experience of those who have made the journey, 
or part of it. Do you see that dwarfed and scraggy elm 
yonder by the margin of the creek ? That elm has a 
good place to grow ; the ground where it stands is a rich 
loam which has accumulated from falling leaves and 
branches in the many ages of the past. The roots 
reach down into the rich soil and feed upon it and are 
continually refreshed by the waters of the creek. There 
are no large trees very near it, to shade it and obstruct 
its growth. Still, with all these advantages, the trunk is 
small, not more than ten inches through, and it is not 
nearly as tall as some of the trees about it which are 
located not so favorably. 

Look up the trunk twenty or thirty feet near that limb 
which grows out to the north-east, and you will see a hole 
in the body of the tree. This shows the tree is hollow, 
dead at the heart and unhealthy. Well, my boy, I have 
known that tree for twenty years. Away back when the 
bears, deer and wolves were plenty here, I knew that tree. 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 29 

I once killed a deer near where we are seated and hung it 
on the branches of that tree so the wolves could not get it 
'till I went home for help to carry it. Let me see, that 
was twenty years, yes more than twenty years ago. That 
tree was as large then as now. You naturally wonder at 
this. Listen and I will explain it. Look carefully at the 
top branches of the tree. See how bunchy and thick they 
are. The limbs look as though they had all grown to- 
gether. That effect, and in fact the whole trouble with 
the tree, is caused by a wild grape vine. Just step 'round 
this way a moment ; now look along up the body of the 
tree from the ground. Do you not see that long, smooth 
vine, about as big as your wrist, running up the tree ? 
That is a wild grape vine and is as old or nearly as old as 
the tree. The grape vine was there when I first saw the 
tree only it was not so large. It has hung to the tree all 
these years and has grown stronger and larger all the 
time. It has kept the tree from growing by binding its 
strong tendrils about the branches, and you can see where 
the vine itself winds around the tree, there is a whitish 
mark. That is where the tough body of the grape vine 
has chafed and wounded the bark of the tree when the 
wind was strong and made the tree rock to and fro. That 
vine, in its effect on that tree, has been that of a great 
vegetable snake. It has held the tree down ; it has re- 
tarded its growth ; it has wounded it and made it unsightly 



so THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

and the other trees about it have outgrown it, and have 
kept smooth, healthy and handsome. 

Well, my boy, let me tell you, that vine is to that tree 
what sin and wrong is to a boy. If a boy does wrong, 
commits a sin and does not get rid of its effects, such as 
profanity, drinking intoxicating beverages, smoking and 
chewing tobacco, or untruthfulness, until he gets the habit 
fastened on him, then the sin or wrong will weigh and tie 
the boy down. It will chafe and wound him. It will 
make him small in mind and perhaps dwarfed in body. 
This will give other boys, who have no such bad habits, a 
chance to get the start of him in the race of life. So you 
will see you can learn a life lesson from the elm and the 
grape vine which may, and I hope will, be of use to you 
hereafter. 

I have now finished my lesson and have a notion to 
tell you a hunting story, the end of which was near this 
spot. It will not take long, and we ought to rest a httle 
after eating. 

A long time ago, when I still lived with my father, 
and when I was seventeen years of age, while we were on a 
deer hunting trip, my father and I came near the " Turtle 
Ponds," to the eastward of Tamerack Swamp, about a 
mile from here. You will recollect that I spoke to you 
about these ponds one day while we were looking for the 
pole which we raised on the corner to put a flag on. 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 3 1 

Well, as we came near one of these small ponds we dis- 
covered the tracks of a bear and found where he had gone 
down to the pond to drink. There seemed to be a sort 
of path where the animals went down the bank to get 
water, for there were other bear tracks besides those which 
had attracted our notice. There was no chance of getting 
the animal then, but my father said that if the bear trap 
was skillfully placed in or near that path, so the brute 
would not notice it, the old fellow might be caught. It 
was about three miles home, but the next day, with the 
consent of my father, and after some instructions from 
him, I took the old bear trap and started for the turtle 
ponds. This old bear trap weighed about thirty pounds 
and when set was an ugly customer. In order to bend 
the springs, so as to open the jaws and set the trap, we 
were obliged to use a hand-spike or long lever of wood. 
When the jaws were open it was as big as a ten quart 
pan, and when the jaws came together with nothing be- 
tween them you could hear them twenty rods. There 
was a strong iron chain, about five feet long, securely 
fastened to a ring in the trap, and to the other end of the 
chain was a ring about two inches in diameter. This 
trap made a heavy load to carry, especially as I had with 
me a hatchet and gun. 

Well, I arrived at the spot where we had seen the 
bear tracks, and found that the night before one or more 



32 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

bears had traveled down the same road to the water. 
After a good deal of work, I succeeded in opening the 
jaws of the trap and fastening them open by the strong 
iron tongue prepared for that purpose. Then I cut down 
a water beech, which had a stem about an inch and a 
half in diameter, and which had long, tough limbs. This 
little tree was about eight feet long. For about three 
feet from the butt end, I clipped the ends of the limbs off 
so as to leave them next the body about a foot long. 
Then I put the butt end of the little tree through the 
ring on the end of the chain to the trap and bent down 
the stubs of Hmbs I had left on it, and shpped the ring 
by the stubs one after another until the ring was up past 
several and next to the limbs which I had left as they 
grew. There the trap was and there the "clog" was. 
Slowly and carefully I moved the trap and clog along 
towards the pond, so that I would make as little stir in 
the leaves as possible, and so the trap would remain set. 
At first I was quite troubled where to put the trap so that 
the wary animals would not notice it and so that they 
would not smell it. There was a log about ten inches 
through, about half way down the bank to the water that 
lay across the path, or partial road the animals had made, 
and I made up my mind that on the water side of that log 
was the spot to place the old trap, so I calculated about how- 
far a bear in going down to the water would, when he 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 33 

Stepped over the log, step beyond the log, and after a 
good deal of trouble, placed the trap at that point. I 
put the tree to which the trap was fastened on one side 
of the path and carefully covered up the chain. I worked 
some time to leave the ground looking natural and re- 
move my own tracks by the liberal use of leaves and 
branches. After I fixed it all up as well as I could, I 
started for home, where I arrived about dark. 

After going to bed, I got to thinking about the trap 
and the bear, and wondering if I should be lucky enough 
to get him, and it was a long time before I went to sleep. 
Finally, I did sleep, and, before morning, I dreamed that 
a big bear had attempted to go down to the water, and 
had stepped into the trap, and the trap had fastened to 
one of his legs, above his big fore-foot, and the trap, 
bear and clog were gone. I dressed and hurried down 
stairs, about daylight, and told my father, who was awake, 
what I had dreamed, and asked to be allowed to go and 
see if my dream was true. He laughed, and said, 
"Your dream comes from excitement of your yesterday's 
experience, and from your continual thought about the 
matter. I guess you have not caught a cunning, old bear 
as quick as this." I urged my suit, however, and, finally, 
was given permission to go. I took down the rifle, that 
always hung ready and loaded in those days, and took 
the powder horn off the hook, and put the string over 



34 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

my head, so the crook of the horn hung under my left 
arm, and called the dog. We had a big dog, whose 
name was "Buff," and he had helped to kill many a 
bear and deer. He came to me and signified not only 
his willingness, but his delight to go. 

Away we went, in the early dawn of a November 
morning. The air was quite cold, but my blood was up, 
and I was warm enough. Across the back fields, to the 
eastward, I went, and struck into the woods, in the direc- 
tion of "Turtle Pond," at a swinging pace. After trav- 
eling for about half the distance to my destination, I 
happened to think about my ammunition, and at once it 
occurred to me that I had not a single bullet with me, 
except the one in the gun. This was a discovery which 
made me fairly weak. I sat down on a log, and ex- 
amined every pocket I had carefully. There was powder 
enough in the horn, patches in a little box in the stock 
of the gun, but not a single spare bullet. Here I was 
alone in the woods, half way to the trap, expecting to find 
a bear foot in it, and I had only one shot for the fight 
which was sure to come. At first I thought I would go 
back and get the pouch of bullets, but, after a little 
thought, I made up my mind to trust to the one bullet 
and the dog. I, however, pulled the pan back, and 
carefully examined the powder in that, felt of the flint, 
to see it was tight and the edge clean, put the old gun 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 35 

on my shoulder, set my lips together, and again started 
for the "Turtle Pond." 

In about twenty minutes, I reached the hemlock ridge 
that skirted the little pond where the trap was put. In 
another minute I was standing by the side just below which 
I had placed the trap. The trap was gone. The ground 
had been torn up, the bushes just about there broken 
down, and to the eastward I could see where the bear had 
gone dragging the trap and clog with him. The old dog 
whined and showed his teeth, the hair on his back raised 
up from his head to his tail, and he started on the plain 
marked trail of the bear, and I started on after the dog. 
In a few rods we came to an old hemlock tree top to which 
the trail led. I expected to find here either the bear held 
fast by trap and clog in the old limbs, or the trap from 
which the bear had loosened himself. But not so, the 
trail led right through a part of the top and here and there 
I found the hemlock limbs knocked completely off or 
broken and the old bear had made a road through that 
top where a good sized ox could go with ease. When I 
saw this, I knew he was a big brute and an ugly fellow, 
and I knew too that the old trap had got a good hold and 
that the tough water beech clog was standing the strain 
beautifully. The dog kept ahead quite away, though 
now and then I made him go slower so I could keep up. 
We could follow the trail as easy as though you had been 
along there and mowed a swath with a scythe. 



36 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

The trail led toward this creek above here about half 
a mile. Soon we came to the creek and there the trail 
turned westward, partially back toward the hemlock swamp, 
which was no doubt the home of the bear. I made up 
my mind from what I saw, that the bear was not far off, 
and since he had failed to cross the creek, I knew he did 
not wish to cross it with the trap and clog hanging to 
him. I knew every bend in the creek then, as well as 
now. I thought I knew where he would go. I started 
to cut across to get ahead of him. I reached a point 
about eighty rods above here, near where Benson's 
orchard is, and I heard the dog bark and the bear growl. 
I had got ahead and the dog had come up with the bear 
and they were coming slowly towards me. Now and 
then I could hear the bear snarl and the dog growl and 
bark, and then it would be quiet again. Then the same 
thing would occur, each time it would be nearer to me, 
and they seemed to be coming right toward me. At last I 
heard the chain rattle about six or seven rods from me 
in the brush near an old fallen tree, the trunk of which 
ran near where I stood, and there ended at the stump. 
The dog again, at this point, tackled the bear, and the 
bear turned on him and the old chain and trap rattled 
at a great rate. 

The old bear growled and snarled enough to make 
one's hair stand on end. Then the bear started along 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 37 

the old tree trunk, toward the stump, but on the other 
side. It at once occurred to me that when the bear 
came in sight, near the stump, was the time for me to 
kill him with my one bullet. 

Along the bear came. He could not travel fast, for 
he had to drag the trap, chain, and clog, and he had 
been worried by the dog, until he was tired. Every 
time he put down his fore paw, I could hear the trap and 
chain rattle. The clog would, now and then, strike a 
small shrub or tree, and make it sway and tremble, and I 
could see over the old log, just where the bear was all 
the time. I cocked and put the old flint rifle to my face, 
and aimed it about where I thought the bear would 
come in sight by the stump. I was as steady as a post, 
and never thought I had but one bullet, and was about 
to shoot at a beast that was king of that forest, and as 
angry as angry could be. I glanced along the long 
barrel of the rifle, and saw the front sight plainly through 
the back sight. I did not even breathe, and my heart 
seemed for a moment to have stopped beating. Just 
then the large nose of the bear appeared, and his great, 
shaggy head. Steadily I let the nose and the head ap- 
pear, though it was but a flash of time, and when the ear 
appeared in sight, I dropped the gun muzzle so the sight 
covered the butt of his ear and pulled the trigger. A 
flash of powder in the pan, with a puff of smoke, and 



38 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

the sharp, whiff-Uke crack of the rifle came, and I knew 
the bullet had started on its journey. The sound of the 
rifle went in and out among the great trees of the forest, 
till it died away in the far distance. When the smoke 
which the discharge had made floated away, I looked for 
the bear, and there he lay in a great heap, just on the 
spot where he was when I fired. 

I ran up with my hatchet, to give any additional 
blow needed, but none was required. The old bear that 
used to drink at *' Turtle Pond" was dead. 

There the old trap was fast to his leg, just above his 
big foot. He was a monster, and would weigh full four 
hundred pounds. The one bullet, in the right place, 
had sent him to his long home. The old bear, in his 
struggles, had bent and partly broken the clog, but it 
still hung to the chain. 

I stood my gun beside a tree, took off my coat, and, 
with my hunting knife, removed the skin, being careful 
to leave the long, sharp claws of the feet attached to it. 
I had some hard work to unclasp the trap from the bear's 
foot, but I finally accomplished it, and took the faithful 
old iron, and hid it carefully, covering it with a large 
piece of hemlock bark, to keep it dry. 

I cut off fifteen or twenty pounds of the best of the 
meat and laid it on the inside of the skin. I then searched 
till I found a moose wood tree and peeled some long strips 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 4I 

of the bark from it, I then rolled the skin up in as small 
a compass as possible, with the bear meat inside, and 
carefully tied it with the bark. 

I swung the skin over my right shoulder, took my gun 
in my left hand and turned my face homeward. I had 
three miles to go and a heavy load to carry. But I had 
killed a bear and was young and strong as an ox, and 
just as the sun sank out of sight, away off over Lake On- 
tario, I stepped into my father's house, hungry and tired, 
but I had killed a bear. 

All my family, including my father, who was an old 
hunter, wondered and listened to my story of the capture 
with great interest. 

Thus it was that I had followed information conveyed 
to me in a dream and found the information correct. 

Just at this moment, my father arose and reached for 
his gun. I looked at him and saw him drop his head and 
turn his right ear toward " Old Dick's Slash." He put 
his left hand out toward me and I heard the sound come 
from his lips which always denoted silence and caution, 
" sh." His right hand held his gun at a point just below 
the muzzle and the breech rested on the ground. The 
old ancient trees of the original forest were all about us 
and waters of " South Branch " just off to our left. The 
autumn sun sent its beautiful light down through the 
trees even to his feet. 



42 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

At first I did not hear a single sound, except the soft 
rattle of the partly dried leaves on the trees and ground 
which moved in the slight breeze which was stirring. 
Very soon, however, I heard a slow, regular sound which 
appeared to come from the direction we had intended to 
go. It at first seemed like the sound made by a fowl in 
the yard when he stretches his neck up and flops his 
wings against his body, only the sound seemed loud and 
regular. The first beats were slow but they grew faster 
and faster, until there was simply one continuous rumble, 
which was a little like low, distant thunder. 

The noise stopped and I said, "It is going to rain, 
that is thunder." I saw father's handsome lips part and 
form into a beautiful smile and he said, " No, my boy, 
that noise is made by a partridge, he was drumming and 
you will hear him again soon." Sure enough the low, 
regular, curious sound commenced again. It grew louder 
and louder till the whole woods seemed to be filled with 
it, when it died away again and we could hear no sound 
except the wind among the leaves and the musical gurgle 
of the water in the creek, as it went in and out among the 
alders on its way towards the lake. 

Father said, '' That is a grand old father partridge. 
They do not often drum in the fall of the year, this one 
evidently feels proud that the summer is past and his 
children, the young birds, have lived and grown up and 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 43 

are very likely within hearing now, looking for berries for 
food or playing in the sunshine and soft leaves, as they 
like to do. Then, too, the old fellow probably thinks he 
is a good drummer and he desires to make a reputation 
by furnishing music to all the birds hereabout. I do not 
know that all this is true, but probably it is. We will try 
and get near enough to him to see the performance and 
perhaps we may get the old fellow, cunning as he is. I 
think I know where he is and it is nearly in the direction 
I intended to go anyway." 

So the old gourd cup was carefully hung on the 
branches near the spring so it would be here at some fu- 
ture time and for our needs. Father started on toward 
the point where the drumming^had come from and I no- 
ticed he stepped carefully. With"dead leaves and small 
dry brush all about I could not see how he could walk 
and make so little noise. He seemed to put his toes down 
first and glide along as quietly as a shadow almost. I 
followed after him as still as I could, but with all my care 
I made more noise than he did. We soon came to the 
margin of " Old Dick's Slash." Here the great tall trees 
ended and we stepped in among the second growth of 
maple, beech and birch trees. These little trees were 
from twenty to thirty feet tall and not very thick. The 
frost here had been able to reach the leaves more thor- 
oughly and there were few leaves left except down near 



44 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

the ground. Now and then there was an old tree or log 
lying in the way, and take it all in all it was a most beau- 
tiful cover for birds. 

Just as we stepped in among this second growth, father 
stopped and his left hand came back toward me with the 
movement which meant silence. The old bird commenced 
again and I saw father bend a little forward, grasping his 
gun in his right hand. As soon as the noise of the drum- 
ming was loud, father stepped to the little hemlock. It 
seemed to me he made no noise at all. I followed and 
reached him just as the bird was winding up his concert. 
I got along very well except at one point I stepped on a 
dry twig and it made a little crackling sound. When I 
reached father, he was on his hands and knees right be- 
hind the little evergreen and his gun lay at his side. I 
lay prone beside him and to his left. When I looked for 
the old tree trunk on which we had supposed the partridge 
concerts had taken place and where we hoped to see the 
bird, there it was in plain sight, its whole length from root 
to limbs, but no bird was to be seen. I thought at first I 
had probably over-looked him and so I carefully searched 
every foot of the old tree, but there was no bird there. 

Father then turned toward me and whispered very 
low, " The cunning fellow heard that noise you made 
when you stepped on that bush, but he has not flown or 
we should have heard him. He has just stepped off on 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 45 

the Other side of the log and run a Httle ways out in the 
bush and if we keep perfectly still here until he gets over 
his fright and suspicions, he will come back to his old 
place and execute another piece." 

We waited five minutes nearly and all the time I could 
hear my heart beat and feel my shirt and jacket move by 
the throbs. Sure enough, we heard a little sound and 
looked away down toward the top of the old tree and the 
bird had just jumped from the ground upon the tree ; the 
noise of his feet made what I heard. He stood there as 
still as a rock, facing us for as much as half a minute, and 
then he turned in a sort of stately way toward the old root 
and commenced to walk along the log ; now and then he 
would stop and stand perfectly still and then walk on. 
He was the handsomest bird I ever saw. He was as proud 
as a peacock. There was a black ruffle of feathers about 
his neck and he stood up as straight and trim as could be. 

The dog "Snap" was lying between father and me, 
and he saw the bird, but he put his nose down between 
his paws, and turned first to father, and then to me, as 
much as to say, "Give it to him." Pretty quick I saw 
both of the bird's wings raise from his body together. 
The wings were not open as fully as when flying, but 
only partly open. He just lifted them, and struck his 
own body with them. At first the movements were very 
slow, and then faster and faster, until the wings looked 



46 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

like a fast revolving wheel. Whew ! what a noise he did 
make though ! 

After the performance, the bird walked five or six 
feet away, and fairly strutted as he went. I saw father's 
right hand move toward ^his gun. His fingers grasped 
the stock and barrel of the old ''smooth bore," and, in 
a flash, it was at his face, all cocked and ready. A 
second, and then a flash and roar, and lots of smoke, 
and I heard a fluttering, and the dog, ''Snap," was 
gone. It was but a moment, when the dog brought, and 
laid down at our side, the dead body of the famous drum- 
mer of "Old Dick's Slash." 

Father said, "You seem astonished at something — 
what is it?" I said, "I suppose the partridge hit the log 
with his wings when he drummed?" "Oh, no," said 
father, "If you will think a moment, you will see that 
would not do, for he would thrash his wings all to pieces 
in no time." After father had loaded his gun, we started 
in the direction of home, which was not more than a 
mile away. Father said, "We have had a delightful 
day, and have done well, too, for we now have two 
partridges, a wood-cock, and a black squirrel. We shall, 
very likely, find no more game to-night, for the sun is 
well down, and we must hurry home, and help do the 
chores. We will, like good hunters, however, walk 
through the woods, as far as we can, on our way home, 
and we may shoot a partridge or two, yet, to-night." 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 47 

We soon reached the town-line road. We followed 
the road only a short distance, and then stepped into the 
first tall sugar maples, beeches and hemlocks, on the 
other side of the way. What grand old trees they were. 
There they had grown for centuries, and would grow for 
centuries longer, if man and his axe would let them 
alone. 

I heard the lonesome and musical song of a bird. It 
appeared to be but part of a tune. It was something 
like this in sound: "Tee we wee, Tee we wee," and 
seemed to be from a single bird. I asked father what 
kind of a bird it was, and he said, " That is what I call 
a wood thrush, and he sings that lonesome song just 
before a rain. You may look out for rain to-morrow." 

We soon passed through the sugar bush and cane and 
came out into a sort of half cleared strip of land, just be- 
yond which was an old brush fence and just beyond the 
■old brush fence were ten or twelve acres of underbrush 
which extended to the pasture. As we stepped up to this 
old brush fence the dog jumped upon it and off on the 
other side and screamed as he went. In a moment there 
was a babel of noise from the wings of three partridges as 
they rose from the ground where they had been rolling 
and playing in the dirt like hens. 

The birds were astonished and so were we. One of 
the partridges said, " Quit, quit, quit ! " and lighted on 



48 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

the limb of a tree right in sight. The branch on which 
the bird rested bent down quite a little. I recollect seeing 
the bird light and set there among the leaves and then 
father's gun was discharged and down she came. The dog 
brought the partridge over the fence to father. One of 
the other birds flew past us into the woods and made for 
a clump of small hemlocks about twenty rods back on the 
road we had come. 

Father said to me, " That bird went toward those 
hemlocks and this late hour of the day is favorable to her 
lighting in the first good hide she comes to. You go and 
look those hemlocks over one by one carefully and you 
will be very likely to find her. I will look for the other 
one that went off here to the right." 

Then it was that I started on my first real hunt alone. 
I went along quickly, but carefully, towards the hem- 
locks. There were five of these trees in a group and from 
the side I was approaching the branches were so thick 
(and I was looking toward the dark thick woods, too,) 
that I could not see the parts of the trees where the bird 
would be likely to light. I went way round the bunch of 
hemlock until I could look into them from the woods side 
and toward the light of the west. The light was growing 
a little dim for the sun was sinking down close to the 
horizon, but my eyes were good then. 

I carefully examined every branch on the tree next to 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 49 

me, and then the next, and found no partridge. I began 
to feel the chances were shm of finding the bird as the 
best trees for him to Hght in I had ah-eady searched. But 
I commenced to examine the third tree. I began first to 
scan the lower limbs and my eyes passed along up the 
tree and searched each limb carefully. When my eyes 
had reached two-thirds to the top of the tree and about 
thirty feet from the ground, all at once I saw the old part- 
ridge sitting close to the body of the tree, with his breast 
toward me. He looked as big as a goose sure. After a 
second, just a second, my wits came to me and I raised 
the old " Pill-lock" to my face. Some how I had cocked 
it but I never could recollect how or when. 

I looked straight at the light colored feathers of the 
breast and pulled the trigger. The gun made an awful 
noise and turned me half 'round. It gave out a long 
stream of fire and lots of smoke. I remember hearing the 
noise of the discharge as it went off down through the big 
maples and beeches. I never will forget that shot. It 
took me about a good, long second to bring myself to- 
gether. I looked to the foot of the tree and there lay the 
bird dead as a stone. I ran where he was and picked 
him up. 

That was one of the proudest moments I have ever 
known in my life. I turned my face toward the sky, and 
gave a halloo of joy and victory. Just then the dog 



50 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 

came to me in a bound — to see what all the noise was 
about, I suppose. I held the bird down to the spaniel, 
and he looked up in my face and whined, and moved his 
tail, as much as to say, "Well, that is good enough." 

I went along out to where father was. I had the old 
"Pill-lock" in one hand, still smoking, and the part- 
ridge in the other. There were logs and bushes in my 
road, but I say to you, here and now, that I did not re- 
member stepping over either logs or brush. 

I held up to father's gaze the partridge, and he said, 
" Well, well, you have done it sure. That is a fine bird, 
and 'it was a lucky venture when you went after him. 
You are all right now, and shall go hunting again with 
me." 

We passed down through the under-brush and out 
into the pasture by the spring, east of our house. As 
we came in sight of home, the sun was below the western 
hills, but had left a glow, which marked the spot plainly 
above it. 

Near the house, on the platform by the well, looking 
toward us, stood my mother. Her right hand was shad- 
ing her eyes and she appeared to be watching for us 
anxiously. When I came near enough to see her plainly 
she was smiling a happy welcome to father and me. Her 
dark hair was well brushed back from her face, which 
glowed with happiness. Her features were as calm, pure 
and sweet as are given to mortal to be. 



THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 53 

It seemed to me then, and seems to me now, that she 
was the grandest, sweetest and best woman in all the 
world. 

I ran ahead of father when I saw her and as I came near 
I held up my partridge. She reached out both her hands 
and I thought, as much as could be, she was going to 
take the bird, but she grasped me, and drew me close up 
to her, and kissed me again and again. For a sweet 
moment I forgot my hunt and my success, and the whole 
world, in the love of my mother. 

I have told you the history of one day out of seven- 
teen thousand, and, if you are pleased with it, I will tell 
you about a trout-fishing trip I had the next spring, with 
my father, along the waters of the '' South Branch of 
the Little Salmon." 



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